Governess Rhondda marches Clive into the viewing room and closes the door behind her with a turn of the key. "Stand at the mirror," she orders.

Clive Waterfield droops his chin at the picture he sees of his weakness, his utter ridiculousness in front of his mature governess. His primrose little girl blouse is so sweet, with puffed sleeves cuffed on his upper arms with matching lace, while the huge Peter Pan collar spreads its lace edging all round his shoulders. His blouse buttons descend down his little girl flat chest between trims of pretty lace too, with the shoulder straps of his pink pleated skirt on either side of them. Oh how pathetic he knows he is: a husband married now for six months, and already his wife is off meeting guys who can provide her with the masculine service she desires. His own babyish little tool could never hope to bring her the satisfaction he was supposed to supply. Miss Rhondda's satin blouse frills appear beside him.

"You know the rules for Wendyhouse viewing," she barks into his ear. "You will be fastened into the viewing chair so that you are helpless and at the disposal of Miss Julia. Either she or I will provide all the sissification your baby penis needs for complete pansification. As a result of today's viewing, you will be more of a petticoat pansy than you have ever been. Is that understood?"

"Yes Miss Rhondda."

"With Miss Jocasta away in Germany, your conditioning depends on her dear mother, as you know. That is the way it should be, isn't it?"

"Y-Yes, Miss Rhondda - I - I depend on Miss Julia."

"Good. Let's get that skirt off." Her fingers slip each strap from the young husband's shoulders and undo the back of his skirt so that it falls to his ankles. He steps out of it, bends to pick it up and hands his little pink skirt to his governess. She spreads it over one arm, then grips the waist elastic of his cream satin panties and drops them to his feet too, for him to pick them up for her. She gestures with her head. "Over to the chair."

Before he reaches it, the opposite door opens from his Mother-In-Law's bedroom and Julia steps into the viewing room. Her blouse draws a whimper of surrender from her son-in-law. He has come to worship everything she wears, she has masturbated him so regularly in his wife's absence, always wearing her most dressy blouses and her tightest or her silkiest skirts. This morning she has on a new blouse, exotic in its jabot of satin ruffles and billowing round her arms in full length sleeves of pearly pink satin. Her short skirt is tight round her thighs and her chocolate pantyhose has him breathing heavily. Her lips curl with disgust in crimson smoothness. He has no skirt to hold but he executes his required curtsey all the same.

"Jocasta has emailed me this morning," she informs him as he rises to attention. She wheels her chair into the exact spot she wants beside the viewing chair. "She sends her instructions for your treatment today. Miss Rhondda, can we have him in his chair please. He is going to be sissified a good deal over the next three hours."

Clive wilts with weakness and shame that his wife is adding to his sissification even while she's away with a boyfriend. His governess thrusts him onto the pedestal and spins him to face the monitor on its table. His waist band is passed across his belly, clipped into its slot and pulled tight, his arms are pulled down, and each wrist is secured to the back of his chair. Julia waits, her print-out in her lap, while Miss Rhondda slots a leg trough beneath each of her son-in-law's thighs and slots his high heels into the heel trap at the bottom of each stirrup. His legs are cranked up from the side of the chair, and when he is hopelessly splayed, the two women are ready to proceed. Miss Rhonnda tunes through the favourites and selects the Petticoat Wendyhouse.

This ritual is guaranteed by now to bring the feeble male to an erection - an erection by association, because entering the Wendyhouse and seeing Aunt Frocks is the prelude to the dreadful exercises he is about to be put through. His Mother-In-Law returns to her daughter's instructions.

"She says you are to be shown the story in Prim's Petticoat Pansies #14 - "The More You Milk Him the Better". Can you find that for me, Miss Rhondda please." She sits face on to Clive, whose lips are quivering in anticipation of the coming arousal. "You've got to learn that a submissive sissy's greatest pleasure is to learn devotion to his Mistress's lingerie." She speaks across him to the governess. "Miss Rhonda, it's a story of deep and persistent panty masturbation. Would you mind popping up to your room and picking out some of the silkiest pairs of your panties. Bring a dozen pairs if you can. I've got a pile of my own and of his wife's panties here on one side: we'll take it in turns on him."

In Miss Rhondda's absence, Julia speaks to her son-in-law with a snarl of contempt in her voice. "You are to be allowed to worship Aunt Frocks and all the women in the Wendyhouse, with help from our panties, which you would dearly love to wear if you could. Am I right."

"Yes Mother-In-Law, you are right."

"What you need is continual masturbation. The Wendyhouse is ideal for dealing with you and your sexless condition."

"Yes, Mother-In-Law. Thank you so much for allowing me into the Wendyhouse."

They are re-joined by Miss Rhondda who takes her seat and lays her pile of silky panties in the lap of her skirt. "It's constant sissification he needs, Ma'am, if you will allow me to say."

"You are quite right, Miss Rhondda, and that is what he will get." Her fingers navigate with her controller until the Pansy 14 page opens in front of them. And there in the list of contents is what they want: - "The More You Milk Him the Better". She opens it, and a moan of sissy surrender escapes the throat of Clive Waterfield. "Would you do the honours and read him his early morning story, Miss Rhondda?"

Clive's legs try to struggle, in vain, in an effort to hide his bolt upright erection, but neither his legs nor his arms can protect his penis from his Mother-In-Law. Her fingers fasten round his delicate organ and begin to play as Miss Rhondda reads the story in her cleverly arousing voice.

" 'You might be better plugging his mouth,' said the nurse. 'They usually make a lot of objections when they can see that their feminine nature is overtaking them. It's pathetic how they try to cling to being a male, even when they're not one any more.' "

Clive cringes with humiliation. This could be him.

" 'No... oh no, please... Jessica darling... don't do anything to my sex... I don't want to... mmmm... gaa-gummm... mmmmmmmph!' "

Clive's legs kick in a sort of self-defence as the pleasure in his cock reminds him how helpless he is. Julia's fingers fondle and fiddle him more persistently, partly to tell him to sit still.

" 'It always helps ladies,' " continues Miss Rhondda, " 'if he suffers shame while being masturbated, the more intense the shame the better. That was why I suggested you could invite your mother to watch him being done.' " At this point the sissy's mother-in-law selects a pair of pink satin panties, nicely full cut as she opens them out for him, then folds them in half, so that she can wrap them round his little upright cock and hold them in place in their soft, glossy sweetness. She nods across him to his governess to continue.

"'Give Mistress your devotion, Nancy girl. Show her how much you love her panties. You adore her panties.' "

There was nothing Clive could do to prevent it. "Oh Mother-In-Law - no - please!" he begs as she works her panties on his clittie.

"Read that line again, Miss Rhondda. My son-in-law is feeling very sissy in my panties for me, and I want him to - oh, too late, he's coming," and her fingers slid the panty up and down to gain maximum surrender from her captive as his eyes devoured the picture on the screen and his cock spent over and over into his Mother-In-Law's panties. Eventually she wipes him in the clean part of her lingerie and discards it into the wet lingerie receptacle at the back of his viewing chair.

"If you think that's all for today, you've got another think coming," she snaps. She looks again at Jocasta's mail. "Can you get a nice pair of panties ready for his sissy cock, Miss Rhondda," she says, returning to the Pansy page and selecting the next story. I've a feeling he's going to recognise himself in what I'm going to read to him.

The story opens: Ex-Males In Sissyville, with a Prissy picture and Prim story. Clive can't stop another wail, and then another as he sees Miss Rhondda lifting a huge pair of granny panties in ivory pearled satin, and folding them into four so that she can cup his defencelessness in her mighty panties and bring him to a second miserable climax of helpless sissification.